Conversation Over Coffee
by borgprincess
Summary: A meeting between Janeway and Chakotay years before they ever encountered each other in the Delta Quadrant...I'm hoping the more stories I submit, the greater chance someone will be kind enough to review please?


Conversation With Coffee

The man in the corner of the bustling café exuded a brooding demeanour that suggested an interruption would not be welcomed, and so was consequently left alone, even by the personnel. After all, no one present had a pressing reason to, or any particular desire to find out the reason for his melancholy. But then came an unexpected interruption.

"You're in my seat."

Chakotay considered for a moment whether to respond, wondering why the intruder could not see that from his occupation of the furthest, most isolated corner of the café that he did not want company?

Looking up at the source of the female voice, he caught sight of another Starfleet officer, one who exuded a commanding presence, and was appropriately attired with a scarlet streak across the top of her jacket.

"My mother would have been horrified if she knew." He heard the tinge of bitterness in his voice, thought that would probably make her realize finally that it would be best to leave him to his own devices. After all, even _he_ was tired of his own company.

Regarding him intently, the woman spun around and moved off. Chakotay looked away, not bothering to watch her leave, his only response a thought that he wished he had her option to walk away. Chakotay thought no more of it, after all, what were the chances he would meet her again, given what he was planning?

Which was why it surprised him when someone settled into the other seat and he looked up again to find her back, a mug in hand and observing him with steel blue eyes.

"I don't give up so easy."

"I can tell," he said, and watched with fascination the fleeting expression of bliss on his uninvited companion's face as she took a sip from the mug. "So…" he decided to make conversation with this enigmatic woman after all. "Your table, huh? How long has your association been?"

Raising the mug to her lips again, she said, "Many long years."

He looked at the table, considering. "Yes, I can tell that too." Whimsy had crept into his tone and he wondered at it.

Apparently so did she, arching an eloquent brow. "Oh?"

"If you study the table surface carefully, you can discern a circular indent consistent with years of abuse- from a coffeeholic such as yourself."

"Very observant." A small smile teetered on her lips. There had been a pause after her comment, as though she were about to say something, but she had not continued with the 'Mister…?' that he had half expected.

"It suits me to be."

So she did not want to exchange names. Interesting.

"Well, now that we've broken the ice, so to speak, care to share what's troubling you with a stranger?"

"Am I that obvious?" Chakotay asked, wondering at her motives.

His expression been scrupulously serious when he had spoken about the supposed indents on the table, from her mug, the implication had been and she matched it, replying, "I think you're underestimating _my_ powers of observation."

Inwardly, he was amused by her implication and intrigued. There were undercurrents here that he did not wholly understand. What fun.

"Perhaps," he allowed.

She shrewdly did not press him to speak.

"Starfleet and I have separated," Chakotay said deprecatingly, looking down at the uniform he had not changed out of yet, having sought distraction instead. And seemingly found it, in the form of this red head, who had forced her company on him yet made him appreciative of it anyhow.

_Diplomacy…the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that he looks forward to the trip…_

This was not diplomacy exactly, but a clever variation of, with her odd mixture of charm and candour a very successful tactic. After all, she had so deftly disarmed _him_. Chakotay decided she would be excellent at handling people. He wondered if she was trying to handle him. Most likely, was his conclusion, but how? And why? Again, he wondered at her motives.

"Messy split?" his companion broke into his contemplations.

"In the most civil way possible," he assured her.

She took another sip from her mug. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Something I believe in."

"I assume you believed in Starfleet when you joined."

He shrugged. "That was a while ago…I was interested in the opportunities it offered me, to explore, get away from home. I admired what it represented…the values it stood for, the idea of being part of the wider galactic family."

She seemed to note the irony in his tone, "Sounds like you've lost faith."

"My planet was one of the ones claimed by the Cardassians. Starfleet did nothing to help them, other than offer evacuation services. They abandoned my people-" he shook his head in disgust and she watched him attentively as he went on to say, "The needs of the many and all that…"

"Sound in principle, or at least, I'm certain the Vulcans think so," she said. "It _is_ very different when the few, in some cases, may have some resonance for you personally. Starfleet is many things, but it isn't a democracy. This has had a lot of people divided over the issue."

His voice was disparaging, "Politics." He had never understood the fascination with it that some had, and it was especially out of place in an organization that claimed to be acting in the best interests of and for the people. What was the need and who were they to decide?

"I agree."

Chakotay wondered whether she was telepathic.

"Starfleet has accomplished a lot, but it doesn't want to be responsible for a war. It doesn't need a situation like in the earlier days…in between a rock and a hard place."

"What do you think about this? As an objective viewer."

She seemed amused. "I doubt you could call me objective…but I don't want a war. Mind you, I'm not condoning what they decided. It's naïve. I understand it though."

"I do too, a little," he admitted. "But I don't want to."

The woman nodded in understanding. "It's a lot easier, isn't it?" Tilting her head, she asked, "I take it, from our line of discussion, that your people did not choose to leave?"

"That's right. We had made our home there for many generations…" Chakotay considered the fact that he had left them, something that had caused rows with his father and much dismay, then continued, "and they had a tie with the land that they did not wish to give up because someone said it was on _their_ side of the border. My tribe chose to stay- and now they're all dead."

In a simple but sincere gesture, she reached across to cover his clenched fist with her small hand. "I'm so sorry."

He forced a smile, saying wryly, "So am I."

She looked thoughtful. "Survivor's guilt?" her eyes were intent on his as she waited for an answer.

"Sure you're not a counsellor?" he was avoiding the question and he knew it.

"Can't stand counsellors personally," there was an expression of distaste on her face. "Oh, I'm sure some of them make wonderful friends, loving parents and are good to their fellow man and the like," there was a wealth of sarcasm in her words. "But I have no use for them in their professional capacity."

"Here, here." He suspected there was a story behind that vehemence, but only remarked casually, "Well, that clarifies your position."

An eyebrow arched again. "Oh? Were you afraid I was a wolf in command red?"

"No, not really," he said, softly laughing. "The red suits you."

She nodded, accepting that for the simple comment that it was. "That tattoo really suits you. Adds character."

"Long story," he said. "Maybe I'll even tell you sometime." Even as he uttered those words, he realized he was not really being truthful. Although he would not mind spending more time with this woman, it seemed doubtful they would encounter each other again after they left the café.

Though he had thought something similar earlier, though, when she had left for her coffee. Who knew? Fate, which was a nebulous concept that he did not entirely give credit to, was the sole caretaker of itself. He shrugged.

She mirrored his action. "Maybe." Draining her mug of coffee, she arched a brow in the quirky manner he had come to expect from her and stood, smiling slightly. "Thanks for the conversation."

Chakotay watched as she strode out of the café, noting that she had not said goodbye. It seemed appropriate. For all the briefness of their encounter, it seemed as though she had left an indelible mark on his very being, trite as it sounded. With a start, he realized that for the first time in what felt like aeons, he felt at peace- and absurdly, for no reason at all, he found himself grinning in the wake of the stranger's departure.


End file.
